


The Body Electric

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The body can be taught to sing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Electric

He sings the body electric, allowing the contact of tongue and lips to skin. Gliding against the taste of warmth and salt, he can feel the roughness of each crease, each bristle of hair. It is imprinted in his memory. He enjoys the taste of sweat and skin.

Though memory is faulty, touch is life and the conduct of heat and relationship both. What would man be without feeling?

He brushes his lips gently against a nipple, feeling it harden at his touch. It clings to his lips for a moment before his tongue plays with the tip. The interplay of soft-hard, dry- wet burns though his brain. Suddenly he is biting it, sucking hard. The body beneath him arches in offering.

He sighs and turns his face. The nipple drags along his cheek in a damp trail. Ah yes, this is his own personal drug. He rubs his cheek on the tickle of hair, loving the way it caresses him.

His mouth travels lower to the belly. He kisses the vulnerability, pressing there to feel the vibration of desire. Need is locked away beneath the hot skin but already its presence is made known by flush and fever.

He licks again, his tongue catching on the hair. He moans and feels the prickle of goose bumps. The body makes known its pleasure and pain through the skin. One needs nothing else. He will be sated only when he has mapped the body below him, until he knows the electricity which courses through each molecule.

Finally he is between the thighs, bitterness on his tongue, heaviness and heat. Fingers twine in his hair, clenching and unclenching to the rhythm of his mouth. He can feel the tautness of muscle clasping his head, the lifting jerk of knees. He strokes the skin of the legs, soothing the hips. Muscles and skin desire fulfillment. They yearn and move inexorably towards an end. But he does not want it to end. He pulls away. Disappointment.

He kisses the soft skin of the inner thigh. A promise. Soon.

He slides up until moist heat can be sucked into his waiting mouth. The taste is sweet and yielding. It is not the power struggle that is expected. Lips part, offering up the wet bumps and hard edges, the slick sides. He cruises them with his tongue, drawing out the delicious shock of penetration.

Become one with the kiss, become one through the kiss.

Knowledge is power and he wants to know everything. He wants everything. He breaks the exploration and presses his face into the hollow where throat meets chest. The rapid beat of pulse is there, like the flapping of moth wings. He kisses the skin and wishes that he could swallow the rhythm. Make it his.

He presses himself full length and moves himself slowly, creating friction. There is electricity, he can feel it. It crackles and burns. He can feel hardness dragging wetness along his belly and a part of him yearns to taste the bitterness again. But this is enough. Skin slick with sweat, gliding. And the body…his *lover*, manifests his desire by reaching out and running knuckles along his jaw.

Yes. He captures a knuckle in his mouth, sucks it, bites it gently, then laves it. Salt stings his tongue.

And... and... muscles tighten and skin is almost too hot to the touch. It is not death, it is energy made physical.

Then without warning there is a melting. He collapses on his side, pulling his trembling lover into his arms. Semen marks both their bodies and he reaches out with fingers. He wants to taste.

In this he lives.

The body is not a thing unto itself. It can be taught to sing.


End file.
